This Is Where I Leave You
by apeacockineverythingbutbeauty
Summary: Jane struggles with an incredible loss while a new case seems to be leading down a path no one could have imagined. With the help of some unlikely people, Jane will find herself struggling to grasp what is real and what she desperately wishes were. Is she drawing conclusions or is the evidence actually there?
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys, this story has been tumbling around in my head for quite some time now and I am so pleased to be bringing it to you. I have been working tirelessly to get you some chapters, and hope this story will take quite a drastic turn from my other fic, Her Fearful Symmetry. I'm really depending on your comments, reviews, and messages for reception of the story. I want not only to bring forward my vision for this story but also give you elements you wish to see in the story. I will be combining some elements of the novels into this one, so please don't surprised or upset to find some major players from the novels making surprise visits when they don't appear in the television show. I will make you one promise- Casey doesn't show up. At all. Yay no beards. **

**That all having been said, I want to thank the amazing kathyisweird for letting me bounce story ideas off her, as well as majorly broadening my Rizzles playlist. A shoutout to everyone in the talented writer's chat who have helped bounce ideas and proofread at least a few paragraphs of this story, you all are amazing and provide excellent ideas. Thank you to thewriterwhoisalone for taking the time to be a proofreader, your insights were tremendous. And finally, to my AMAZING beta, who has spent so much time and energy making sure the Jane Rizzoli presented to you today keeps her wits and sticks true to the character, and also brings a whole new meaning to the song Blue (Da Ba De) with her editing, thenicecheese.**

**Enjoy! Please let me know your thoughts.**

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There are many things I pride myself on: being a detective who always has her partner's back is one of them. Loyalty to a fault is another. And when I vowed to keep myself safe from harm, to always come home to my spouse, I meant it. So I don't know why I wasn't surprised to find myself in the ER at 3 a.m.

Not wanting to upset my mother, I called Frankie to come pick me up. The doctors refused to let me drive my nearly wrecked car home with a walking boot on. I didn't see their problem, but I waited patiently for my younger brother to come strutting through the ER, clearly unhappy to be here _again_. It wasn't my fault that my perp decided to jump out a two story window and I followed him.

That's what cops do, isn't it?

He stopped a few feet in front of me; the concern, anger, and pity on his face made me feel ashamed. For over two years, I'd been deliberately putting myself into dangerous situations, disregarding my own safety at every opportunity.

"Janie, what did you do this time? Get run over by a car?"

I furrowed my brow in confusion. "Nope, I'm fairly certain I have that scheduled for next month."

"Very funny," He rolled his eyes and his face became flustered out of annoyance. "Ma's gonna kill you. You've been doing so good."

"Well." I mumbled as I pushed myself off the bed and reached for my jacket, badge, and gun. I don't wait for him to catch up as I hobble out the doors and find his cruiser sitting in the parking lot. He seems to take longer than normal with the paperwork. Probably flirting with the receptionist again.

He's right, though. I had been doing well. It's tough going from a wife to a widow so quickly. Not even married three years, just happily planning our lives together. How could I forgive myself when I knew their death had all been my fault? Of course, all the therapists and grief counselors refuse to let me acknowledge that fact, but that's what it is to me- _fact_.

"I'm a widow." It's just a whisper as I wait for Frankie. One of the experts I'd seen told me I should repeat this phrase, that it would help me to fully understand my situation. But saying it always made me feel so helpless. I'd failed at everything I was: a detective and a spouse.

And now I was a widow.

Frankie finally came out of the hospital, carrying a small prescription bag. He knew I wouldn't take the pills, whether he claimed they were my pain pills or not. I knew he'd switched the current prescription with my anti-depressants. I wasn't born yesterday. Yet, I couldn't fault him for trying.

Becoming a widow wasn't just hard on me- my family had lost someone too, and not only were they grieving, they were also trying to make sure I wouldn't self destruct. Taking turns talking to me about the medication, even getting my partners involved. I always listened, agreed with them about the benefits and then flushed the pills down the toilet once they'd left.

I never said I was perfect. I just said that I'd listen.

"Can we go to your place?" I asked him once we'd pulled out of the parking lot. He shot me a disapproving look. "I just can't face her tonight, Frankie. It's been a rough day, and she'll want me to talk. About what I am now, about what I've lost, about how I _feel_. I just can't handle it right now."

He was silent for awhile as he drove. I could tell he was trying to formulate some sort of response. His knuckles were gripping the wheel so hard they'd turned white. "And just what exactly _are you_ now, Janie?"

I sighed and leaned further back into the seat. "Not you, too." Inanimate objects had the best of life. They never had to worry about disappointing someone, or being left behind. They just existed. I wanted to just exist.

"Yeah, _me too_, Jane." Frankie's eyes flashed toward mine. "I'm worried about you, and I know that doesn't make it easier, doesn't make the pain any less real. But you have to start moving on. There isn't anything any of us can do to change what's happened."

"On second thought, just drop me off at the station." Turning my head, I looked out the window at late night Boston. Frankie sighed and accepted my rudeness. They'd all been letting me win so easily that sometimes it wasn't even worth the wasted sarcasm or witty retorts. They were just worried, but part of me wondered what the hell was wrong with how I was living my life? It was _my_ life, and I could ruin it any damn way I pleased.

Frankie didn't bother getting out when he dropped me at the station. In fact, he barely stopped the car at all. He had every right to be upset with me. I was being a bitch to him for coming to my aid once again. I knew he was the only one who wouldn't rat me out to Ma immediately. I'd have a whole night and day's worth of peace.

Sometimes being a widow had its perks.

But not tonight.

Down in the morgue, I softly closed the small door behind me. Sometimes it was morbid but this closet had been _our_ space when everything else was taken. Shortly after I'd discovered it, I set up a cot here for when I needed a nap at work or had to sleep here overnight. It just became our place.

Mine and Maura's.

I laid my head down on the pillow and breathed in her scent. Two years later and after every trace of her had been eradicated from the morgue, she still lingered here. This space remained as untouched as she'd last left it. One of her lab coats still hung on the door hanger, waiting for an occupant who would never come.

For our first wedding anniversary, we were working a tough case and couldn't leave the station, so she'd snuck in and hung Christmas lights along the ceiling. She found this small, black breakfast set that she placed in the farthest corner, dinner from the Dirty Robber and my favorite beer waiting. I'd snuck out for a couple hours with her while Frost and Korsak picked up the slack. Neither of them minded. I have the best partners, the best wife.

I'd _had_ the best wife. Now I was alone, a widow.

Maura's smile was the last thing I saw as I fell asleep.

_Apparently I'd broken the coffee maker. How was I supposed to know that her fancy machine would break just because I'd used pre-ground, instant coffee? Supposedly she'd told me this several times, and why hadn't I just woken her up for a cup? She fretted over the thing while I sat with my legs crossed at the dining room table, my bowl of Fruity Pebbles sitting between my laptop and me. _

_I was checking our email, we had only been married a few weeks and for some reason, people thought we'd have enough time to stop our busy lives and respond to their emails. Maura was adamant that we keep up correspondence to those we'd invited to our wedding, a wedding that took three years of planning and coordination. _

_So I had to read emails to my wife this morning as she fretted over the broken coffee maker. Because we had to seem like the humble newlyweds, who weren't so busy catching up on paperwork and solving murders to correspond to people we saw __maybe __once a year._

"_Maur." I called over to her. She just made a huffing noise at me, and mumbled something about three hundred dollars for a lunk of metal that couldn't even make instant coffee. "Your mom wants us to come visit her. When can she expect us?"_

"_Which one?" She yelled, just a tad too loudly as she tried the grinding function._

"_Constance. You know Hope just calls you when she wants to see you." I looked down at the screen to begin typing a response. "Because she's usually already in town by then." I mumbled under my breath._

"_I heard that, Jane Rizzoli." But at the sound of my name leaving her lips she stopped and turned towards me, surprise written across her face. "Oh," she squeaked. "I guess it's Jane Rizzoli-Isles, now."_

_I smiled at her and opened my arms. She began to saunter over. "Why yes, it would be Mrs. Dr. Rizzoli-Isles." Maura frowned at me as she sat down on my lap._

"_Jane, you can't say Mrs. Dr. It's not proper."_

"_I don't _care_ what's proper, I _care_ that legally, you are _mine_." I began to kiss her neck, pushing back her silk robe as she took my hand, our rings making a noise as they touched._

"_I'm not your property, Jane. And even if that were _true_, which by the way, it's _not_, then you would be _my_ property."_

_I stared up at her, pretending to be affronted. "Why Mrs. Dr. Rizzoli-Isles, you can claim me on your taxes any day."_

_She smiled down at me, her laugh reverberating throughout the empty house. I felt her entire body thrumming as I held her. Maura struggled for air as her hazel eyes met mine. "That's _not_ how it works, Jane!"_

I want to say that having lost my wife makes me a more sympathetic person. It doesn't. I want to say that I've rethought my life and the risks I'm willing to take. I haven't. And I know that it should make me think more about the loss of my own life and the impact it would have on my family.

But it hasn't.

My family tells me that I'm depressed. Hell, all the grief counselors and therapists I've been forced to see have all told me this. They drill the word so deep inside me that maybe one day it'll resonate. But all I seem to find are the empty spaces that Maura once filled. I don't think there's a medical term for that and, if there is, Maura would've known it.

And as I lay here on this cot we once shared, I'm full of longing. There are too many days I wake up and all I want is her. The feel of her body pressed against mine with the thin sheet of her pajamas the only thing between us. The way her hair fell as she slept, and how my hands tangled themselves in her locks. Sometimes, even the scent of her would be enough for me.

It always surprises me in moments like this just how deeply I fell in love with her, how happy I was.

Only days after I'd lost her, I barricaded myself in our bedroom, willing her loss not to be true. I was screaming so loudly a few neighbors actually called the cops, but none of them ever came. Instead, my family took turns at the door, slipping me food and water, hoping that I'd come out and let them comfort me.

I never did.

This time, it was Frankie's turn to waste his night with me. He was the only one who'd stopped trying to calm me down. My little brother sat for hours in silence, listening to my soul shattering with only his hand slipped underneath the door.

He knew that once I was done screaming and crying, I'd want that hand. It didn't really take long for that to happen. I'd screamed myself to sleep six nights in a row; there was only so much of it I could take. So, I moved on to sitting in the middle of our bed in complete silence. That night, though, neither the screaming nor the silence was comforting. I needed the touch of another human being.

I finally went to the door and sat down, slipping my fingers between his and squeezing with all my strength. Maybe two hours later, he broke the silence. "Jane?" It wasn't more than a whisper, but I let him believe that I'd fallen asleep. I heard his head slump against the door just beside mine as he whispered to me, "I'm never going to fall in love."

It was that night I realized that I wasn't the only one who'd lost something, some status. I was now a widow, but my mother had lost a child. Frankie had lost hope. Tommy had lost his sense of security. We as a family had all lost Maura, but we'd each lost pieces of ourselves too.

As I pushed myself off the cot and found a clean shirt from a box underneath it, I realized that I might not ever recover. Sure, I was going through the motions of life but nothing was satisfying. There was some part of me that still cared about the light in my family's eyes every day I managed to get out of bed. _That_ was what kept me going. That and memories of Maura.

I'd barely begun the walk up the stairs to the bullpen when my phone rang shrilly from my hip. Yeah, it was just another day in Boston, one to add to the indistinguishable pile that I'd labeled, "without Maura".

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**Thank you again for reading, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts and reactions!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I am SO sorry for the delay in updating guys! Please be patient with me. I hope to update regularly from now on. Thank you for all the lovely support I've gotten from you guys!**

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I'd gotten the call first, Dispatch knew Korsak was the senior member of the team but for years they'd always called me first. Despite this fact, it was easy for me to spot both Korsak and Frost's cars sitting around the perimeter of the crime scene. I'd gotten the call first, but I'd arrived last. I parked off to the side, toward the edge of the barricade, trying to steel myself up, spackling the cracks with a new coat of "I've got myself together."

Today, the process was harder than usual.

But I emerged from my car maybe twenty minutes later with a twice applied polish of professionalism and a pair of blue surgical gloves tucked into my back pocket. I was walking toward the scene, trying to contain myself when a young officer came running up to me.

"You can't park your car there, ma'am."

I smiled at him, must be a rookie if he's working perimeter and doesn't know his own detectives. I'll admit it's hard, there's a lot of us and not all homicide. The scene has probably been crawling with _detectives_. "It's okay, I'm a detective."

He stopped and frowned at me. "Ma'am, all of our homicide detectives are here already. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

And just like that, all my professionalism was gone. Now I was mad, irrationally so. Who the hell was this kid and where was his leash? "Look boy, call me _ma'am _one more time and see what happens." I pulled my shield up into his face, the metal making contact with his cheek. "See this badge? I'm a cop, I'm a _detective_ and you're preventing me from examining _my_ scene. Now get the _hell_ out of my way."

The officer just stood there, completely immobile. Some of my sense was coming back, his behavior wasn't part of any academy training, this man had known abusive personalities and how to survive. My anger was beginning to dissipate as another officer ran up to us. I knew this one, officer Blayke was a Mexican female with short curly black hair. She was always friendly and knew how to stand her ground, we were on a first name basis, Anita and I.

"Jane, what the hell is going on?" She snapped at me. I knew what I must've looked like to her- a detective who'd snapped and was taking a power trip out on the rookie because I could.

There was a reason every homicide detective took mandatory psych evaluations every two years and at least four psychologist visits every six months. We saw the worst of the worst, the violent crimes. The small, petty reasons people were driven to kill so brutally always astounded me. But it did not surprise me in any way to know that most homicide detectives rotated out every five to six years averagely.

Warning signs of emotional instability are taught to every officer at the academy. We train our officers to watch out for our homicide detectives when they go crazy. To officer Anita Blayke, I must've been showing all the signs.

"He...I...the car..." My brain was starting to regain composure. I was losing my sanity and taking it out others. I looked at Anita, confusion in my eyes. She stepped closer and touched my wrist, pulling my badge away from the officer's face.

"It's okay, Jane. Everything is okay." She was pulling the shield out of my palm and placing herself between me and the other officer. "Jacobi, I want you to walk away now."

The officer looked at her incredulously. My badge was imprinted in his cheek, I was a detective on the edge of losing my sanity and she wanted him to just walk away? "Blayke, I don't think that's..."

"Jacobi." It was harsh and sharp. Louder than it needed to be. "Walk away. Now." Anita pulled me in for a shallow hug as Jacobi disappeared around the corner. In the deepest reaches of my mind I was hoping he wouldn't do anything to my car.

"I'm so sorry, Anita, I don't know what's happening." She released me, her hands still on my shoulders.

"It's okay, Jane. Take some time to cool off okay? I'll cover for you until you're ready."

I mumbled a thank you as she walked toward the crime scene tape, making sure no one came looking for me. I took a couple of deep breaths, paced for a couple minutes and then I walked into the scene.

The crime scene was a parking lot underneath a commercial building. Frost and Korsak were already inside looking at the body, compiling clues. I took a deep breath and hobbled down the incline to the small security outpost where I spotted my partners.

"What do we got?" I asked as I adorned gloves from my back pocket, and then rolled up my jacket sleeves.

Korsak looked up at me from his notepad. "Building security guard, his replacement found him at about five this morning. Looks like one shot execution style to the head." I leaned down to inspect the wound. "Looks about a .38 but you know Pike. He won't confirm it until tomorrow."

Hearing Pike's name brought me up short. It had been two years since Maura came to a crime scene, two years since Pike had been named as her replacement, but two years wasn't nearly enough time to adjust. I took a deep breath before I returned to my investigation. Looking through his pockets, I glanced at the name badge clipped to his shirt. "Declan Ryan."

"We're checking the security cameras but, as of now, it looks like they were disabled around one am. Most likely our kill window," Frost said as he walked over to us. "The building houses a software company called Storr-Up. They do professional hard drive backups and store them on site."

"So we're looking at a possible security breach. Somebody wanted one of those hard drives." I said as I stood up.

"I spoke with the new guard and it doesn't look like anyone actually entered the building. So far, it's looking like something personal against Mr. Ryan over there."

I nodded. "Korsak and I will check out the vic's family. I want you to stay here and wait for the CEO. I want them to do a full inventory check. If anything is missing or tampered with, I want to know immediately."

Korsak and I made our way through the scene. It was hard to push our way past the plainclothes detectives who weren't needed, the various officers standing around, the extra CSRU techs who always managed to come in groups of at least twenty. Crime scenes were always so damn crowded; there were too many people that didn't need to be here. I was fed up of pushing my way through people when I exploded. "Alright! Everyone NOT needed, needs to leave NOW." I screamed it loud enough for Jacobi to have heard outside.

Most of the people were surprised by the outburst, and were staring at me with open mouths. Those who were smart enough, were already making their way to the exits. I was known for keeping a tight ship at my scenes, sometimes I even let people who didn't need to be there stick around, make them pretend they were important. Today was not one of those days. Today, I wanted a small group of CSRU techs and my team.

"You okay, Jane?" Korsak asked as we approached his unmarked.

Glancing up at him, I nodded. "It's just been a rough week." We entered the car and he drove quietly through the streets of Boston.

"Gonna tell me what happened to your foot?"

"Nope." I pulled an extra pair of sunglasses from the glove compartment and turned away from him. I needed to stay focused, stay in work mode. I was not willing to crumble on the job again.

Korsak sighed heavily beside me. "Jane, you know I'm just worried about you. You're not the first detective I've seen lose their partner in the line of duty-"

I cut him off before he could dig his hole any deeper. "Maura wasn't my _partner_. She was my _wife_."

"You know that's not what I meant." He paused briefly, considering his next choice of words. "You're not the first person who's lost their _spouse_ on the job. Cavanaugh is just one of the many I know."

"How many years did it take him to get over it? I know there's some timeline taped to a wall you all are following. Maybe I go against the odds." I looked at him sharply though I knew he couldn't see it behind the glasses. "Just leave it alone, Vince."

"Damnit Jane, no. I care about you, I won't sit back and watch you kill yourself over something you couldn't have prevented. This isn't what Maura would have wanted."

"Maura would have wanted to live, to grab beers at the Robber and exchange witty social banter she never quite grasped. But she isn't here anymore so there's no use telling me what she would have wanted. I know better than anyone the answer to that particular question, so just drop it. This is the last time I'll warn you."

He nodded and the car plunged into silence. He was doing his best and, on some deep level, I recognized that. But, listening to him tell me one day I'd be where Cavanaugh is, trying to date and marry again, was too much. And hearing him tell me what Maura would have wanted for me? No, that was _not_ a place I was willing to go with him. His situation was different. You can get divorced as many times as you want, but you can only lose a life once. 

Declan Ryan lived in a townhouse in a crowded suburban neighborhood of Boston. The exterior was a bright, happy blue with a white door and flower boxes. Children's toys lay scattered in the grass that surrounded the property. I let Korsak walk up in front of me, and he knocked twice before we heard movement from behind the door.

A woman in her thirties opened the door with a smile on her face. She was beautiful, long blonde hair so light it was almost white, big blue eyes matching the paint on the house. "Claire Ryan?" Korsak asked as she nodded. "Boston PD, can we talk to you inside please, ma'am?" Claire stepped out of the way and ushered us inside.

Immediately I saw even more toys spread throughout the lower level of the house. Claire pushed some out of the way with her feet, giving us a clear path to the living room. She offered us glasses of water and cleared some space on the couch. Korsak glanced at me hesitantly and I nodded at him, I'd be the bearer of this bad news.

"Mrs. Ryan, I'm terribly sorry to have to inform you that we found the body of your husband, Declan, early this morning." Her shock and despair was instant, palpable. I remember being just like her, able to feel the weight of the world crashing down around me. Tommy once told me that it wasn't gravity that kept us tethered to this earth but people, and I'd never realized what that meant until I was lost in space.

And I watched as Claire Ryan became untethered and as lost to the world as I was, being completely useless as to how to stop it.

"Mrs. Ryan? I'm sorry about your loss but we need to ask you some questions about your husband." She looked up at me with these horror filled eyes, I'd been the one who ended her world and now I had the audacity to question her? I wish I could tell her I understood, flash some badge of widowship so we could ban together. Maybe the club will pitch in for t-shirts.

"We have twin boys, just over a year old. They'll never know their father. H-how am I supposed to tell them about their father?" Claire became hysterical, sobbing into her hands. Korsak looked at me as if I'd be able to help pull her from this, as if my comforting touches and soothing words will make her forget that her sons no longer had a father and never would.

"I know this is an incredibly difficult time for you, is there someone we can call to help with the boys while we ask you a couple questions?"

"You know this is incredibly difficult?" She snapped her head up and stared at me as if she wished I'd be the body on the pavement instead of her husband. "How the hell would you know? You know _nothing_ about my incredibly difficult time."

Claire Ryan was standing up by now, finding that anger inside of her that builds up shortly after the grief. Apparently there's five stages and I guess they happen linearly but I've found they come in waves. Short bursts of each aimed at everyone in the room. Small grenades you can't diffuse.

"I lost my wife not even two years ago, Mrs. Ryan." My hands started hurting even as I admitted it, bowing my head. But I could tell the anger began to diffuse from her body and she slunk to the couch. "I've been in your place, I know how hard it is to hear your world ended. But I never cooperated with the detectives investigating her death and we never caught them. So please, help us find who did this to your husband."

Claire nodded and took a sip of water from her glass, clutching a small blanket with car designs. "Declan has worked as a security guard since he got out of high school, he wanted to be a surgeon but couldn't afford med school so he took day courses at the community college and patrolled at night, usually studying for a test. Some weeks I wouldn't see him for a couple days because he was back to back. He was supposed to graduate next month, got a full ride into a surgical program."

She paused, unable to continue telling the story of her husband's ambitions in the past tense. It was still too soon to think of him as dead. "Did Declan have any enemies? Any disputes?"

"No. He was quiet, kept to himself. Work and school and then home, he didn't even have any friends. He was focused on me and the boys." She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue Korsak handed her. She mumbled a thank you at him.

"What about at work? How long had he been working for Storr-Up?"

Claire paused as she tried to recount the months in her head. "About two years. He was hired when they moved into that building, they came to Declan for their security. He was so excited, said they wanted him to come up with his own salary and security plans." Claire stopped and looked up at us. "Jean-Claude loved Declan, gave him raises that I didn't think the company could afford. No one had any problems with him, he was a kind, giving man. I don't know what else to tell you, detectives."

I nodded and stood up, practically dragging Korsak off the couch with me. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Ryan. I am so sorry for your loss." Claire Ryan nodded and followed behind us towards the door.

"And I for yours, Detective Rizzoli." I smiled half-heartedly at her before leaving.

As I had suspected, Storr-Up declined our offer of help, but they had no qualms with our detectives staying around to supervise. Frost and Jean-Claude seemed to be getting along perfectly, as we walked down the hallway towards his office we heard them laughing. Probably some weird technical joke about the innards of computers.

Korsak and I rounded the corner, fully prepared to interrupt their newly developed bromance. I did not have time for this.

"When's the first date?" I asked sarcastically as I entered the rather large, elaborate office. The two men were sitting by the desk, the young CEO behind his, Frost leaning on the edge smiling at me.

"You missed it, the wedding invites are already in the mail." This retort came from Jean-Claude, surprising all of us. The CEO couldn't have been older than twenty-six, his dark brown hair slicked back even though it was cropped. He had the brightest blue eyes I'd ever seen and an intelligent smile about him.

I walked further into the office, taking a seat in one of the leather chairs facing his desk. Frost pushed himself up and walked toward the door, mumbling something about checking on the CSRU techs. "Do you mind if we sit?" This came from Korsak, trying to be polite after my first remark. It didn't seem to faze the young CEO.

"Of course not, help yourselves. Do you want anything to drink? Water, coffee, the souls of young children?" His smile warmed his face.

I laughed at that one. "Only if they're fresh."

"Wouldn't dream of serving Boston's finest anything else."

Korsak just frowned at us, this was a murder investigation, didn't we have any sense of professionalism? He should know the answer to that one by now. "Mr. McLoughlin, while I'm enjoying your witty banter with my partner here, we do have some business to attend to."

He held up his hands towards Korsak and smiled at me. "I apologize Detective Korsak, and please, call me Jean-Claude." He reached over for a black file folder and opened it on his desk. "Please, let us get to business."

Korsak opened his small notepad and looked expectantly at Jean-Claude. "Were any drives missing or tampered with?"

"Only one drive was missing from our archives, it belonged to one of our older members, let me get her name for you." He looked at the black folder and began to scan its contents. "Here we are, Myrtelle Canavan. She opened her account with us on May 1st, 2009."

It immediately dawned on me that the day she opened her account was the day after I married Maura. But this was a murder investigation and not in any way connected to my wife. "How many times has Mrs. Canavan accessed her drive?" Korsak's question brought me from my daydream.

"The day she opened the account, she brought in her computer to be scanned. She did the same on…" He flipped through the file again. "February 7th, 2012." Again, I connected it to Maura, that was the day she had died. "I remember that day, it was right before closing and I was the only one in the building. Mrs. Canavan brought it in a hurry, two computers actually, and demanded I back them up. She offered to pay double for the service."

"Do you have an address on file for her?" I asked, my throat dry with the tears I would shed in the car later.

Jean-Claude shook his head. "Unfortunately not, we only grab the addresses when a tech has to go and physically back up the drives. It became popular for clients to bring them in when we moved into our new building, we'd had to temporarily cancel home visits."

"What about a description or security footage of Myrtelle Canavan?"

"We didn't have cameras installed yet, all I can remember of her was that she was maybe 5'7", about thirty-four, I'd guess. I wish I could be of more help."

Korsak and I stood up, smiling and offering out our hands, thanking him for all his help and that one of the officers would let him know when they were done. I left my card on the edge of his desk, asking him to call if he or any of his employees could tell me anything else about the mysterious Myrtelle Canavan. And when I reached my car, I told Korsak I wasn't feeling well and was calling it a night. He smiled at me, just a small one, laced with understanding. And when he pulled away, I sat in my car and cried.

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**As always, thank you for your continued support. I look forward to hearing your thoughts!:)**


	3. Chapter 3

_I watched as my wife struggled to get what appeared to be a wooden box about the size of a small steamer trunk from the backseat of her Prius. The scene was just too much for me not to laugh- her designer dress and four inch stilettos, trying to lift at least a fifty pound box. Maura heard my laughter from where I stood in the doorway and turned to face me. She pouted, hand on her hip, eyes glaring. _

_"You know Jane, you could _help _me." Her tone was serious, unamused. The tone she reserved for me when I screwed something up. _

_I offered up my hands in surrender, walking towards the car. Gently nudging her out of the way with my hip, I lifted the box easily and followed her inside. Maura motioned for me to set it on the coffee table where I finally got a better look at the contraption. The lid was carved beautifully with two large hearts intertwining, our initials and wedding date carved inside the overlapping hearts. _

_"It's a memory chest." She explained, her hand on my shoulder. _

_"Maur, this isn't really what I expected for our second anniversary. I didn't get you anything quite as...elaborate." _

_She laughed, lifting open the lid of the box. Inside were two smaller boxes, one said "_For Jane_" and the other "_For Maura_". Behind the carved names were silhouettes of my badge and gun, a scalpel and the medical symbol. Between the boxes was a bottle of wine and two fluted glasses. _

_"It's for both of us. You're supposed to spend the first year of marriage filling up these boxes for each other and on your anniversary you open the bottle of wine and exchange boxes. Most couples open them separately, it's like little tokens of love." She was so excited as she spoke about the box. Maura handed me a small key on a chain. _

_"But it's been more than a year." I sounded skeptical at best. _

_"We've been busy." She just shrugged and I could tell my lack of enthusiasm was hurting her feelings. This box idea was important to her, wanting physical tokens of my love. _

_I smiled at her, pulling her chin up with my fingertips. "What exactly am I supposed to put in this box?"_

_She smiled widely at me, excitement filling her eyes. "Anything you want, but you have to explain it clearly and concisely. There is a small notebook in each box where you can write down elaborate reasons for each item. You have the key for the one labeled "_For Maura_" so that I can't cheat and open it early. We'll open it and go through them next year."_

_I pulled her in close and swept aside the hair falling in her face. "It's a great idea, Maur."_

_She smiled sheepishly, her arms encircling my neck. "You really like it?"_

_"It's definitely you, Maura. Just don't expect a novel okay? And don't get mad if you get a bunch of Sox stuff."_

_Maura laughed and kissed me. "Whatever you love, I'll love too, Jane."_

The wooden box was sitting in the designated spot in our closet. A place we could both easily access and still allow each other a modicum of privacy. I sat on the floor staring at it.

We would've been married five years today.

But Maura never made it to that third wedding anniversary.

I spent hours wondering what she was meticulously placing inside her box, thinking my receipt from our first real vacation as a married couple was cheap. That the Red Sox onesie I special ordered from Ma's Amazon list for the kids I was hoping we would have was corny. And the videotape I stole from Tommy of TJ's third birthday, and how Maura chased him around the park for hours, swinging him around like he was an airplane was lame. How I fell in love with her more and more each day.

I twisted the key to her box in my hands, she had left it on the nightstand the day she died. She didn't put it around her neck that morning, said she didn't want to lose it at a scene. I lifted the lid of the box and stared down at our individual boxes, the unopened bottle of wine.

With careful hands, I lifted the box labeled "_For Jane_" out, laying it in my lap while I inserted the key. It was immaculate, another small box off to the side labeled "muscles", a small photo album next to it, some envelopes last, the notebook taking up the last space. Maura had crammed every inch of space with tokens. She loved me so damn much, more than I deserved.

I picked up the notebook and opened it, her handwriting glaring at me from the pages. I cupped my mouth and started to cry as I read her entries.

_Dear Jane,_

_The box labeled "Muscles" has pieces of paper with a muscle of the body and my association with it on your body. Of course there is an unknown total number of muscles so I will stick to 365, one muscle for every day. _

_The photo album has snapshots I've taken of you when you weren't paying attention. There's quite a few, you should really be focusing more, Jane. Maybe we can add some vitamins to your daily routine and if you stopped eating so much junk food. There's some of you sleeping because you look so peaceful, please do not find this "creepy" or "sketchy". I'm not sure what the last one means but Frankie assures me that it's apt and you will understand it. _

_Finally, the letters are ones I wrote to you before we were together. When I would travel, sometimes I would stay in the hotel and write to you as if you were...well, my wife. _

_I will continue to update this notebook with things you do or say. _

_I love you, Jane Rizzoli-Isles._

_-Maura_

_Dear Jane,_

_You would not get out of bed this morning. It was rather amusing, you became highly upset when I informed you that it was before 7 a.m. on a Saturday. You pouted your lip and pulled me back onto the bed, using your fingers to tickle the nerve endings on my body in the places you know are sensitive. When you finally got me where you wanted me, half underneath your body, your arms securely around me, you kissed my clavicle and fell asleep._

_And I have never loved you more._

I couldn't get through any more entries, too many memories came swelling up. Everyone thinks that being bombarded by memories feels like drowning, but to me it feels like being shot. And I've been shot enough times to know.

Somewhere between getting home and falling apart my mother found me. I should have been expecting it, she knew it was our anniversary, she would have done anything to help me today. As she has done with each birthday, holiday and anniversary since Maura died.

Her arms circled around me protectively, drawing me into her embrace. We sat in the closet, the tiny pieces of paper with my muscles on them in a circle around us. The notebook with Maura's entries was drenched with my tears and Ma moved it out of my lap before I could ruin it. Eventually she coaxed me out of the closet and into the bedroom so we could sit down.

I guess I had turned on Sports Center when I got home. I don't remember doing it, or even taking off my blazer and putting away my badge and gun. I just remember the box of memories tucked haphazardly in my closet. The TV was playing a recap of the Red Sox playing the Rangers in Arlington, Texas.

"You gonna tell me what's going on?" Ma asked quietly from the edge of the bed. I wiped my tears away with the tissue she handed me.

"Maura brought home that stupid box, remember? I guess I decided it was time to open it, she's not coming home anytime soon."

She looked down at the carpet, twisting a tissue in her hands. "Honey, Maura isn't ever coming home."

I looked past her at the TV, watching the Sox score as I inhaled deeply. "I just need to believe it's a possibility, ya know?" I looked down at the comforter and smiled. "Sometimes I think she's just away at that conference in Tennessee, because the Body Farm had always been her favorite place."

"That's not healthy, Jane." I could feel her eyes on me even though I was ignoring their glare. The Sox scored a home run, hit the ball into the stands. "Please look at me."

I mumbled something about not having seen this game. She reached out and snatched the remote from off the bed, pausing the game as it showed the stands and the people catching the ball. "Jane Clementine Rizzoli."

And there, in the bottom right corner of the screen was golden blonde hair that I knew by heart. It was half covered by the Red Sox ball cap I thought I'd lost, I could tell from the hole in the brim. That was my hat, and that was her head. Her hand was pulling the brim down over her eyes, turning her head away from the action, the wedding ring I'd spent months saving up for glistening. She was being as inconspicuous as possible. Hiding in plain sight.

But there on the TV screen, at the Red Sox game in Texas, sat my dead wife. "_Maura._" It came out of me in a guttural whisper. I was off the bed with my hand over hers on the screen in mere seconds.


End file.
